


Far From The Madding Crowd

by diyozaz



Category: The Society (TV 2019)
Genre: 1x03 canon divergent, Blood, Cassandra survived, Coming of Age, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flashbacks, Literature refs, Medical Procedures, Multi, Multicultural, Pre Canon, Seriously she served the show in only three episodes, Slow Burn, Swearing, Unresolved Sexual Tension, hassandra, mentions of grizzam and becca/kelly, she deserved to be a main protagonist so here i am writing her as the lead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-05-30 19:53:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19410247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diyozaz/pseuds/diyozaz
Summary: “The red purple ink continued its uncontrolled progress on her sequinned dress, coloring his shaky hands as they desperately tried to put pressure on her open wound. This horrid sight made his head spin. Harry always knew that Cassandra was fighting everyday to survive, but he didn't realize that her struggle might end at any moment tonight, in his arms”Harry witnesses Cassandra's attempted murder and has enough time to rescue her. As the news travels in New Ham, the former built society fragments itself more than ever, letting the past to come to the surface...A season one rewriting / canon divergent fic





	Far From The Madding Crowd

**Author's Note:**

> As much as I loved The Society, I felt like they were parts of the plot (as well as characters) that lacked developpement. I think it's because we didn't have flashbacks and enough focus on each teen to either get attached to them or have insights about how relationships were depicted before in the light of canon. So my brain came up with this piece of my imagination, firmly keeping my dear Cassandra Pressman alive because she was the most charismatic and likable character in the show. With this piece of information in our horizon, this fic will feature the mysterious cause that lead Harry and Cassandra to be rivals, how our other guys's relationships were before the buses came to take them and a bouquet of other things. Far From The Madding Crowd is the eponymous title from Thomas Hardy's novel published in 1874. 
> 
> English is my second language, sorry if you notice a weird syntax and a lot of mistakes. Hope you'll enjoy !

**AS IF IT WAS THE THREADBARE COIN GUILDENSTERN HAD TOSSED ETERNALLY** , Harry's head was spinning in the air, desperate for the Ultimate Answer. He got to chose one of these two options :

Either, tail, he'll fight the toxin currently running through the seafoam green of his bumping veins.

Or heads, well, his own, attached to his neck, will decide to no longer resist to this exquisite feeling of serenity slowly taking over his entire body.

The final verdict didn't come up as a surprise. It wasn't much a question of probability. Harry's sanity was brought into play for a reason that escaped any tempted layers of wise rationality he vehemently tried to cover it with an elaborate meaning. In fact, denial, perchance, had grown in his subconscious, thus, responding to cues whom it wasn't the owner, rather a frivolous tenant. Take this : his unusual passivity ruled his drive to party, yet the boy affirmed he was having a good time after getting to know the numerous bottles of alcohols who will cheer up his night. Him, best known as the king of the party.

Denial, aka the fervent refusal to face a reality, sometimes a truth. A definition Harry knew oh too well, yet appearing to be a foreigner inhabitating his mind, its meaning, crumbling under the sweetness of the glass of champagne he just sipped by the bar thirty minutes ago. It was difficult to simply think tonight. Everything seemed so oddly blurry and inexplicable anyway. Language, the first tool of comunication was unable to produce any full sentences.

What provoked the young man to find himself in this pathetic state was the fact that he refused to admit his new status of orphan. No more father to his side, no more mother to bear his whims or to lull him, no more sister with whom he can bicker all around the house. They were gone, all of them. So this sorrow, too hard to cope with, needed to be earsed, as simple as that. And what a better way to achieve this initiative by creating an artificial paradise, a cool place devoid of sadness and torturous melancholy. Yes, the teenager craved for the calm after the rough storm he just went through these past days. Plus, as much as he didn't want to sound selfish, nobody seemed to care about him. After all, Kelly and Allie were too busy dancing with that dull Will, Campbell was in the middle of a passionate makeout with Elle and Cassandra... why would he even considered her in his list ?

The old Pressman had her arms wrapped around Gordie's neck, her succulent lips attached to his little ones, her face, enlightened with this emotion he knew as the name of _childish joy_. Harry didn't feel his fingers uncounsciously tightening his glass more fiercefully until he noticed his knuckles turning completely white.

Harry was actually distracted. The blond gleamed on the dance floor. Even from the distance, Bingham could see the jewels of her shining invisible crown. It dazzeled him to such an extent that his chocolate eyes weren't capable to focus on his ex and the curly haired boy anymore. Her tiara was made out of raw royality and beauty, two beguiling redoubtable materials that would make a whole people blindly bow before her, even himself, her former subject.

Harry craved to see her deposed from her holy throne. Knowing the rules she recently implemented and the reluctance felt out of them, this peace won't last that long. Not that he didn't liked it— peace's great. It's just Cassandra's idea of peace sucked. A bit.

The problem in the story ? Harry was just reliving 24/7 his hellsih days back at the student council all over again, having this golden girl as the president on his back who suffocated him by her presence. And she had the audacity to ask him to join the commity this morning ? How hypocritical was this proposition ! Cassandra only forced herself to be _nice_ to him so she can propely use him at her advantage, shaming him in front of everyone when she'll get the opportunity to do so. Deep inside, a little voice bawled, ardently asking, beseeching him why did he decline this chance of working with Pressman again like in the good old days. A part of him wished he had accept this position... Another part conviced him he just couldn't do it. Not now, not when his house was taken hostage by a band of nineteen grubby squatters, not when he passed his days serving his others at the cafeteria with this costume and stupid hat on. No, it would mean showing signs of weakness at the dawn of his uprising. He had to stand out against the unfairness of the situation.

All things aside, Harry Bingham hated to admit this from the bottom of his heart that he was pissed. The last 10 hours replayed themselves on a loop, specifically the one hour spent before the prom when he and the boys talked about how vilain and manipulative Cassandra had become. True, she turned Kelly against him (she kept distancing herself from him day by day), but there was this something else about Pressman that curiously made his heart ache. He blamed Scott for replying “ _Fuck yeah_ ” to Jason's question, affirming that he'll happily fuck Cassandra. Who was he to say such thing ? First and foremost, who was Harry himself to let this filthy comment of his letting “ _I just wanna see her down on her knees begging for it_ ”. So innapropriate. How was he supposed to straightly look at her in her deep blue eyes after these humiliating words. Harry felt disgusted. He loathed himself. He didn't forget how Dewey added fuel to the fire by imagining the way the sexual humiliation would happen.

Maybe _she_ was the real reason he desired to get fucked up, tonight. Nevertheless, even when he was letting himself go, Cassandra still occupied his inner thoughts, stealing in the same occasion this great ability of being careless about everything.

She haunted him.

Cassandra or the alluring wordsmith, the mythological mermaid. She bounded words to her whim, hypnotizing every single person who listened to her. Gwen had an hypothesis concerning how the old Pressman became that powerful. According to her, the blond prefered sculpting the physicality of language in the aim of seducing people rather than her own body since no one wanted to date her since. It was a sunny monday afternoon when they had this conversation. Her, Kelly, Jason with Erika on his lap, Clark and him, perched on the bleachers. What a harsh remark you would say wouldn't you ? But plausible. Grizz would have Gwen instantly killed at this insult if he didn't spend much time talking to the old football coach Warren. Knowing how he admired her, the Visser boy would had defended her with every fiber of his being. So would Harry. At this time, he simply glanced angrily at the dark haired in a very discreet manner. He didn't buy her theory.

Cassandra merely needed someone who understood her, raise her up, agree as well as disagree on things. He had knowledge of these facts from the bygone period when they were friends.

The young man felt depressed because his memory was tained with regret. So he drank to forget, and got high to escape reality though it did the opposite effect.

It kept him grounded.

Harry got used to the pain over the time but not this sore emotional kind. The power hungry one, so conquerent. Proud of extending its lands on his weak vulnerability, constantly reminding him of his mother's affair, Mickey and his squad soiling everyday his propriety, his girlfriend's previous rejection, his rivalry with the blond leader... If one can minimize the effects of an upcoming depression, one have to put good boudaries right ?

Settling in this temporary comfort zone with loneliness in his compagny would be the best card he had in his hand. Determined to savour the delicious taste of what the drug brought him, Harry used it. Finally.

So here he was, exiled from the dancefloor, currently sitting on the beautifully decorated hallway of the community center, or West Ham Inn, as the welcoming board displayed. With his back leant against the black wall, right next two transparent chairs, Harry's head was oriented toward the ceiling. The blue and yellow little lights started to wildly flicker around him. It was intriguing at first. They became to embrace the pattern of surreal abstract paintings much as Van Gohg's infamous _Starry Night_. He thought something had gone wrong with the electric wires but it soon stopped when each pairs of lights combined themselves to form the gracious familiar shape of numerous flying butterflies. The boy quickly recognized them— which happened to be a surprised since his brain was barely functionning meaning Campbell's drug was working. They answered to the poetic name of Ulysses. Harry knew that because his 14-year-old Ruby had five replicas nailed in her bedroom. Under them were written the name of their respective species : papilionidae (his favorite), nymphalidae, hesperiidae, pieridae, then last but not least lycaenidae.

Harry's mouth slight opened, traducing his childish amazement in front of this wonderful spectacle.

Long minutes passed, if not a short hour, Harry saw the psychedelic fluorecent Ulysses slowly leaving his numb body to find their original form back. Unfortunately reality brought him back to his arms. He heard a bunch of loud sights, moans followed by a heavy noise of something on the pink plastic carpet, coming from his right. Too tired turn his head, his eyes moved to their extreme sides to meet two bodies pressed to one another against a wooden door. The cadaverous body and its red hair surely belonged to Greg Dewey and this lovely lavender short low-cut dress— which Harry complimented because damn, she had taste—was definitely worn by Lexie. When the excited boy's hand was about explore the hidden skin of her butts, a black object fell off her left mid thigh. It must had been her purse. Girls stuffed basically all their life in these little bags of hers so this click sound he heard was surely her weird shaped triangular vanity case. He bent down to pick it up. In his motion he noticed behind him Harry's presence which statled her.

“Shit! He saw us” she nervously let out under her breath, visibly recovering from their french kiss.

“Don't worry about him Lex, he's high as fuck, he won't remember anything tomorrow” Dewey reassured her as he sucked on her pulse, causing the tall girl to bite her lips, holding back either a laugh or a sound of satisfaction. The giggles faded away as they dissapeared behind the wooden door.

When you think about it, Bobby Aronson was a lucky guy somehow. He didn't get to witness the oblivion of a wandering youth.

Tonight, the little boy who was supposed to become a man in the eyes of his family, remained as a mere face printed on a poster, dicks and vulgarities drawn next to his face.

At least that's what the young man believed.

* * *

His mouth was dry, an imidiate side effect from the drug. He believed what Campbell gave him was extacy. When he visited Yale University during the open house in August, members of the Ivy League promised Harry this outlawed substance as well as a bright (fun) future once he'll join them after hopefully graduating. This memory left a bitter taste though, because of its occuring in what seemed to be in a distant past. This golden age in which he still benefit the luxury of dream of a glorious future carved with success. He wasn't the epic hero of a marvelous tale no more, he transformed itself into the big ba from a fantasy novel.

He missed Yale, now his buried dream. There was something else Harry wanted to deeply bury in the depth of his mind too though couldn't. Another side of the coin he hated to turn... Harry didn't dare to even think about it. The more he tried to forget this event from the campus tour at Yale, the better.

The students' boys still echoed in his mind. They told him a lot of stories about their hangovers, the girls and boys they had, specifically the ones where they consumated a single pill or sniff of MDMA. Also known as the _party drug_. Hallucination, mental, physical euphoria, legendary sexual performances came with a price : dehydration. So the young Bingham briskly headed to the bathroom, almost tripping on a red cup and two white and blue ballons. He didn't give a damn about his surroundings except, he noticed a different atmosphere reigning among the dancefloor. It was silent with less than ten people remaining in the giant room. Most of the teens had probably returned back home either to fuck, to jerk off, or to sleep. It was fact. Harry knew this. He experienced all of these three activities a bunch of time in the past. It reminded him how much he wanted to get laid. He was too depressed to do so. Somewhere in West Ham at 41 Meadow Avenue, from the pages of _The Catcher In The Rye_ on Bingham's nightstand, Holden Caulfield applauded him, proud of his choice at the moment. In the same way as Bingham, the protagonist declined Sunny's invitation to fuck because of this feeling of laziness mixed up with a certain nostalgia or social uneasiness. Funny how they happened to be similar in this context.

Sex wasn't the greatest cure heal the aches of the soul.

 _High but not fucked up_ , or the perfect expression ever said by Harry himself to define his current miserable state. He let Campbell know of his need for another the pill earlier, however the dude didn't give a damn about him supposedly for his own good. He didn't have the knowledge. His genitals were controlling his brain at this point, that's all. He prefered to abandon a good friend for the sake of a night of pure pleasure.

On his way to the WC, the young man passed near Mel and Sue hugging. Eversince he threw his party after the Fugitives, the girls never seperated from their sexy time spent in his pool. Both of them praised him for that wonderful night he offered them. Without him, the couple would never have met.

Harry aka the matchmaker. He earned another name. Cool.

When he entered in the dirty toilets, Harry saw a used condom on the white tiles. Some people must have had fun out here though the less the less they could have done was at least cleaning up the proctection. Sometimes, he wondered if their parents raised them good, or if they were born idiots. Not wishing to be distracted by this contraceptive, Bingham opened the tap then splashed water over his face. He drank a lot of it as well. The sensation of having fresh liquid travelling down his dry organs was good, so good. He then took a moment to capture the masculine figure reflected by the mirror. His deshiveled brown curls, the cold sweat trailing upon his face, the black mark on his white shirt, one of his two straps fallen down... He was the mess. The biggest loser of the group.

He just wanted to find his comfortable bed to have a good night of sleep.

All at once, he heard water running down from another tap behind him.

The mirror was large enough to reflect the women's WC, letting Harry to catch a glimpse of Bean adjusting a few dark locks sticking out from her yellow colored charming hijab. He remembered her doing this gesture a couple of times before in West Ham High's hallways, in front of her locker number 182. In all honesty, the young man had a lot of prejudices about the petite 18-year-old before old Mr Tucci, the history teacher, paired them up to present the D-Day. He always percieved Bean as this introverted girl. She later proved him wrong gradually, during each of their meetings at West Ham High library. “ _Just because I'm a muslim girl who wears a hijab doesn't mean I'm inhibited, trust me I can talk about dicks too_ ”. In the end, Benazir “Bean” Kayali turned out to be the coolest lab partner Harry ever had. Both teens would talk for hours about guy stuff. With four brother living under her roof, Bean liked to share fun stories about her Pakistani family. He loved listening to her talking about her religion, ramadan, the prayers. Islam, just like any other religions, was compelling in some way and he respected it. Her description of her beliefs were much more freed, totally different frm the popular stereotypes. It didn't have anything common with the demonized image some medias conveyed on the news.

Harry appriciated this cultural exchange between them. Nonetheless, after their oral, Bean and Harry's path eventually separated. Not the same classes, not the same friends... Their friendship, gone with the wind.

She didn't realized his presence anyway as she hurriedly left. When, the dark haired left the men's toilets, long minutes after as well, practically every light were turned off, the dancefloor and the bar, free from the sea of plastic cups, paper towels and baloons. Someone probably must have clean all this mess. Whoever that person was, he or she did a good job. He indentified himself to this lambda since he was the one who always had clean up the mess left from Mickey and his squad in former stinky trash that were his bathroom and living-room. Harry headed to the front door but he stopped when his gaze focused on the main big room. He immediately recognized the echos of _The Circle Game_ by Joni Mitchell, one of late Mark Bingham's favorite 70's song.

“ _We're captive on the carousel of time_

_We can't return we can only look behind_

_From where we came ”_

He remembered this part so well, mainly since it was these precise lyrics late Papa Bingham used to hummed back in Harry's young years, when he rocked baby Ruby in his arms in their garden, by the red rose bushes. Fortunately, a small tear rolling down his left cheek and the clicking of a pair of shoes— likely high heels— that torn him away of his daydream. Harry turned his head in the direction of the noise. A feminine silhouette was visible out from the windows of the Inn. The more he got closed from the exit, the more he came to the conclusion the girl standing outside was no one but Cassandra Pressman herself. He stopped before opening the door. For a moment, the girl appeared to be frozen in place like a pillar of salt. She was looking at something in front of her, or someone ? The wooden board with _West Ham Inn_ written on it and the big decorated plant blocked the left side of the road, Harry couldn't see anything from the inside. Yet he noticed anxiety twisting her soft features and—

 _Bang_.

A gun shot. He heard it. The loud sound of a gun shot riving the untroubled silence of the night.

Harry thought he almost broke the door as he rushed outside. The bullet had hit Pressman's abdomen. Before she was about to fall on the ground, he grabbed her into his arms. His gaze balanced between the wounded blond and the gost street. The killer was already gone. He or she must had sensed his presence. “Come back, you coward !” Harry wanted to chase that son of bitch but he couldn't leave Cassandra here, barefoot, cold and shot to the death. His field of vision took time to adjust, especially with the girl, her blood oozing from her right side. She was shot in the ribs. Shit! The bullet must have touched her kidney which meant her life was put at risk. Wasting time by chasing down the fucking murderer who dared to kill his own kind was pointless right now. Even if his hunger for vengeance was burning his whole body.

Harry bent down to the laying victim. Her hands struggled to grip the thin material of his elegant jacket. Her lips were moving, as if she was desperately trying to say something. However her eyelids started to go down, not letting the blue visible anymore.

“Hey, hey! Cassandra, please, stay awake, stay with me !” He implored her, taking her face between his hands. He looked away to scream a dozen “Help !”. No one answered. The red purple ink continued its uncontrolled progress on her sequinned dress, coloring his shaky hands as they desperately tried to put pressure on her open wound. This horrid sight made his head spin. Harry always knew that Cassandra was fighting everyday to survive, but he didn't realize that her struggle might end at any moment tonight, in his arms. Instinctively, Harry removed his expensive black vest, carefully lift the girl's back from the ground and wrapped the sleeves thightly around the wound to stop the haemorrhage as well as possible. Then, he remembered something. His Masserati was parked a few meters away from the community center. If he could rapidly carry her to his black vehicle and take her to the hospital, she'll have chances to stay alive.

So he did what he had to do.

Bingham gently lifted her up. Each of his arms, locked around her shoulders and the back of her legs. His right hand also took her beige high heels she removed a few minutes ago. He leaded them to the front passanger, opened with difficulty the door before depositing her on the grey leather of the seat. His hands, white shirt and left cheek were covered in her blood, but Harry didn't give a damn at all. His goal was to take Cassandra to the place she'll receive all the medical attention she needed. He tempted to turn the ignition key in the lock before the car started to run for good. As he speeded up, Harry's right hand found his pocket in order to take his phone. If the blond had to be saved then people ought to be awake. Harry's bloody thumb pressed on the first name displayed in his Iphone's contacts.

“Al— Allie ! It's C—Cass—Cassandra, she- she's been shot!” his stuttering voice screamed over the phone. “Meet me at the hospital right now !”. Harry didn't know what happened afterwards. He just raced into the night. Driving, Bingham's mouth kept mumbling inchoerencies, begging to wake up from a stupid nightmare, pleading for his mother to come back, praying to a God— if there's one—to hear his distress.

In the passager seat next to him, Agonizing Cassandra's skin lost its vibrant color and her lucious pink lips gaped. She was paler than the whiteness of the moon. Never leaving his gaze from her, Harry tried everything in his possible to keep her awake, repeating her names endlessly.

She needed to stay alive, if not for the sake of the society, than for his own.

**Author's Note:**

> So we dove in Harry's mindset and we'll surely continue to swim across the sea of thoughts that troubles our boi. Don't worry, other characters will be in the spotlight as well... Other interesting pairings will also see the light of the day. I just like the idea of having Harry and Bean friends, in my headcanon, they're the iconic brotp, trust me, further exploration will be done in the future. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are always really appreciated !
> 
> You can follow me on twitter @burntlatte :) that's mostly the place where my Hassandra breakdown happens.


End file.
